Gods, that look makes his pulse skip. "Ja," he rasps, aware of the heat spreading steadily through his body. "I'll do that." Every step Yussa describes will be easier if he stands, so he does. There is precious little space between them, but then, that is very much the point. He now stands head and shoulders above the other man, yet that feels insignificant. The impact of Yussa's presence is about so much more than his stature.

Caleb slides the outer layer reverently from his shoulders, his arms, and folds it with the rest of what he has already removed. Then, meeting Yussa's golden eyes for a heart-stopping moment, he grasps the hem of his tunic and peels it up. With cooperation, he is able to get it up and over Yussa's head, revealing the final layers beneath.

It would be impossible to conceal the way his eyes, darker and wider, pore over the older man's form in the same way they would devour a new spell laid out for copying. He wants to take in the whole picture; he wants to linger on every detail. Appreciative, excited, intrigued, but above all, hungry.

In his distraction, his hands are slower to fold this layer. With reluctance, he tears his gaze away to put it with the rest, attentive and respectful as he would be with any of the archmage's belongings. He registers how rapid his breathing has become as his hands fall to Yussa's waist, finding the ties keeping his pants in place, as he'd been directed.

"And after this?" He asks with bated breath, blue eyes flickering upward.